Surprises
by RespectTheHobbit
Summary: Book-verse, slightly AU. Denethor often persuades young Faramir to do things that he doesn't want to do by telling him that they are surprises. Fairly sad throughout, but happy ending.
1. Chapter 1

Author's note: the little flowers (~*~) signify time jumps

Denethor was starting to get angry. Boromir was waiting on him! He made a fresh attempt to wrangle his youngest son, who seemed to be in a mood. "But where, Papa? Where we going? You say, 'Have to wash face!' but I don' have on nice clothes."

"It's not important; just do as I say," he said. He really did try to keep the annoyance out of his voice, but something about Faramir's incessant questions always got to him. Thankfully he quieted down long enough for Denethor to finish getting him ready. And it's about time. Boromir has always been headstrong, but I don't remember him being like this when he was a toddler! Denethor shook his head and scooped up his son as he started speed-walking to the training grounds. It was Boromir's first day, and Denethor really wanted to be there for him, show him the ropes.

His thoughts were interrupted by a fresh round of interrogation. "Is we going to library? Is Mama at library?"

How am I ever going to get him to behave? He's going to be like this the whole time; he hates waiting… Denethor adjusted his grip on Faramir, suddenly struck by inspiration. "It's a surprise, son. You will have to figure out what it is when we get there."

The evening passed without incident. Denethor was very proud of both his boys; Boromir had performed well, and Faramir had patiently waited for his mother to arrive. It wasn't until he drifted off to sleep that night that Denethor remembered making some kind of mention of a surprise. Well, I'm sure if I forgot it then he did too. After all, he's so young…

~*~

"Father, why do I have to go?" Faramir asked plaintively.

"It is a surprise; you will find out when you're older." Denethor rushed up and down the room, trying to make sure he hadn't forgotten anything.

Finduilas smiled patiently at her boys. "You haven't left anything behind, dear, you never do. Come on, we're finally ready."

Denethor sighed and ran his fingers through his hair. "You are probably right," he said, following her out the door. The two brothers walked in front with their parents following close behind.

"Denethor," Finduilas said, her voice low and serious. "You need to stop telling Faramir that things he doesn't want to do are 'surprises'. I told him yesterday that if he was good, he would get a surprise. He squinted at me and asked where exactly he'd have to go to get it."

Denethor chuckled. "Once again, you're probably right. I did it once or twice and fell into

a habit… I'll have to work on it." ~*~

"Son. Are you ready? We need to leave soon." Denethor waited outside Faramir's door.

He could barely hear the answer, but the tone sounded resigned, so he was probably just putting his shoes on now. I know this has been hard for all of us, but dawdling won't make it easier, Denethor thought. You're ten now, and you should be old enough to understand that. With a final shake of his head, he went down the hall to collect Boromir.

Afterwards he knocked again, and this time the door opened. Faramir walked out, dressed in his mourning clothes. "I'm sorry, Father, I forgot… where are we going now?" he asked, rubbing his eyes.

Denethor was going over the fastest routes in his mind and herding his sons down the hall, so he neither heard Faramir's question nor looked closely at him. Boromir was paying attention to his brother, though. That's twice in one day he's cried himself into dreams. He must not be sleeping at all at night, if he's that exhausted. I should say something. At the very least, he can't cry at Mother's… he never finished the thought. Faramir had repeated his question, and Denethor had automatically answered, "It's a surprise."

There was a moment of silence after that. Everyone was wrapped up in his own thoughts. Denethor was cursing himself. He had tried very hard for a very long time to break himself of that habit, but when he was under stress the old excuse always came back. He had even been trying lately to provide some "real" surprises, to offset the disappointments, but he knew it was a bad solution. Still, they were almost to their destination, and he was in too deep now to go back.

At this point, Faramir had woken up a little and remembered what was going on, but both he and Boromir were confused by their father's words. They both knew that his surprises weren't always the good kind- several visits to grumpy relatives came to mind. But those were at most unpleasant. They had never yet been "surprised" with anything like a funeral. Maybe there was something good coming, after all. Faramir guessed that maybe one of their aunts or uncles would watch them for the afternoon, letting them avoid what they had to do. Boromir, for his part, suspected that they would be given some kind of treat afterwards, on condition of good behavior.

Their hopes were destined to be dissapointed. All their relatives were at the crypt, and none of them seemed inclined to provide sweets. Boromir stayed on his best behaviour, though, just in case. Faramir got very quiet after they arrived. He trailed behind his father and let all his aunts hug him and tell him how much they loved him. He let his uncles pat him on the head and

tell him what a strong little man he was. None of what was happening was really being processed in his mind; he was just watching and waiting.

The critical moment arrived. The body of Finduilas was brought forth on a bier and laid to rest inside her coffin. They all watched respectfully; Denethor was stoic with a strong arm around each of his sons. There was a small moment of silence. Then Denethor picked up the small box that had been waiting in a shallow alcove. He opened it, and removed a delicate silver necklace and two small trinkets. He handed the trinkets to his sons, and together they stepped forward to give their last gifts.

When the ceremony was over, the more distant relatives dispersed, leaving the brothers, the fathers, and the sons to mourn privately. None of them shed tears; they were as still and silent as the figures of the graves.

~*~


	2. Chapter 2

Faramir gave his report to Lord Denethor as best he could, considering the circumstances. Once or twice he caught himself looking to Mithrandir for guidance. He hated doing this, hated withholding information from his lord. But his father hated him now, and his will would have all the fair things he loved in jeopardy. Even Mithrandir seemed uneasy, questioning him about Frodo and Sam. Faramir forced himself to focus on summoning the answers the wizard needed. "Some twenty-five leagues as the bird flies, but I could not have come more swiftly. Yesterday I left from Cair Andros with three others, and the rest of my company I sent south to strengthen the garrison at the fords of Osgiliath. I hope that I have not done ill?" Faramir looked at Lord Denethor deferentially.

"Ill?" Denethor hissed, squinting. "Why do you ask? The men were yours to command. Or are you asking what I think of all your deeds? It has been a long time since you listened to my council. Even now you have spoken craftily and carefully, as ever; have I not seen your eye stray to Mithrandir, asking if you said well or too much? He has long had you under his dominion. My son, your father is old but not yet senile. I can still see and hear far, and little of what you have left unsaid is now hidden from me."

"I am sorry if what I have done displeases you, Father," Faramir said. He looked

Denethor straight in the eye, trying to communicate the sincerity of his words.

"That may be true, but you do not regret your actions, and would not change them now if you could. Do not forget that I know you well. You desire to appear lordly, gracious, and generous, like a king of old. That may well have benefited you, if you reigned in a time of peace. But in desperate hours gentleness may be repaid with death."

"If it must be so, then so be it," Faramir said quietly, breaking under an angry gaze.

"So be it?!" raged Denethor. "Not with your death, Faramir, with the death of your father and all of your people, whom it has fallen to you to protect, seeing as Boromir is gone!"

Faramir looked at his hands. Underneath his father's words he felt like a young boy again, exposed and vulnerable to wrath. He remembered nothing of his early childhood, and the years surrounding his mother's death were cloaked in a haze of sickness and grief, but every step he and his father had taken down this cursed path was scorched into his memory. He looked up again, trying to force calm into his demeanor, but he asked, "Do you wish that our places had been exchanged?"

"I do," Denethor spat. "Boromir was loyal to me and not some wizard's pupil. He would have remembered his father's need and not squandered what fortune gave. Oh, would that this thing had come to me!"

Gandalf broke in now. "You deceive yourself. Boromir is dead, and died well; let him sleep in peace! If he had taken this thing, he would have fallen. When he returned you would not have known your son, and he would have kept it for his own."

There was a moment of silence. "If he had! If I had!" Denethor said suddenly. "Such ifs are in vain. It has gone into the Shadow, and we must all fight the Enemy in our own fashions." Like an old lion that realizes it has been distracted from its prey by a hyena, Denethor turned swiftly to his son. "What of the garrison at Osgiliath? Is it strong?"

"I have sent the company of Ithilien to strengthen it, as I have said." Faramir said, totally exhausted. He had not slept in days, and receiving his father's jabs graciously was taking the last of his strength.

"It isn't enough. There the first blow from the East shall fall. They will need their captain."

"There, and elsewhere, and many places." Faramir sighed.

"Much must be risked in war. Cair Andros is manned, and no more can be sent. But I will not yield the River unfought, if there is a captain here who still has the courage to do his lord's will," Denethor said.

Faramir said, "Since you are robbed of Boromir, I will go and do what I can in his stead- if you command it."

"I do." Denethor looked piercingly into his son's eyes.

Faramir stood, and bowed. Unfortunately, he stood too quickly, and his vision darkened. Taking the steps down the dais without falling over required all his concentration. As the spots faded, however, he caught the muttered phrase, "Don't act as if you are surprised to hear what I think of you."

Faramir did as his lord bid him. He rode forth from the city as soon as possible with as

many men as he could take. He tried not to let himself think about his father's words. If he felt his mind stray to the matter, he told himself, He still loves me, in his heart of hearts. I only wish that he could have remembered it before I die. He had no illusions about surviving what was ahead, but he was resolved to die bravely. As he led his company onward, he said to himself, I would die for my father even if he did not love me. My devotion to him is for his own sake and the sake of the debt every son owes to his father, not for a hope of a reward or a return. I will obey him, even though he asks me to lay down my life. Something inside him grew quiet after this, and a kind of peace descended into his heart, which lasted even as he learned that a host came from Minas Morgul.

But it was not just any host. The Black Captain came, the one who threw shadow into every heart, the one who could not be withstood by any living man. Faramir fought as well as he was able, but the Anduin could not be held. They were forced to retreat to the wall of the Pelennor. Faramir held his men together, marching them onwards, but he was deeply afraid that this would become a slaughter. At the last moment, reinforcements arrived, and they brought the White Rider. Faramir gazed upon Mithrandir in wonder and awe then turned back to the task at hand- just in time to see the arrow.

Faramir dreamt in his fever.

He was racing through the streets of a strange city. People were searching for his brother. Suddenly, one of the people caught sight of him, and he cried out, "There! There is Boromir!" The people in the streets started chasing him, yelling angrily and calling him by his brother's name. A rock whizzed past his ear, breaking a window. They were trying to stone him.

Faramir dove around a corner to find a dead end. There was nothing in this alley, not even a door. He looked over his shoulder to see a crowd of people. He tried scaling the wall, but that was when the first stone was thrown. They bit the backs of his arms and made him fall off the wall.

Faramir had no ideas. In desperation he pressed himself against the wall. To his surprise, it yielded gently. He leaned further into the stonework, and it cradled him. In fact, it was very soothing. He closed his eyes for a moment, and when he opened them again he was lying on soft earth. The sun blazed in the sky above him. He sat up and looked around; he had never been in this place before. He was atop a low hill overlooking a vast plain of grass. A shimmering river wound its way through the field. Faramir stood up, trying to gauge how far away it was. For some reason the landscape was hard to pin down, but Faramir was thirsty and hot enough that he decided to try and get to the river.

He walked slowly down the hill, and the next thing he knew, his boots were in the water and his hair was tangled in the weeds on the bank. At least the river was cool. He knelt down on the edge of the water to drink, but he suddenly saw a reflection in the water. Denethor was standing over his shoulder. "Father!" he said, and whipped around. His voice sounded very hoarse to his ears. His father was not behind him as he had thought, but a figure stood on the very crest of the hill he had just come down. He went to it, calling, "Father?"

The figure was not Lord Denethor. It was Boromir, very old and decaying. Despite this, it appeared that his brother could still run like the wind, for he raced away as soon as Faramir got close enough to recognize him. Faramir gave chase for what seemed like ages, but his brother got farther and farther away until he became lost in the trees. Trees? When had he run into a forest? Faramir looked around. The smell of wood and earth was everywhere. The scent of earth and trees assaulted him as it never had before. He was suddenly aware that he was thirsty again and turned around, but he was lost. The smell of a wood fire surrounded him now.

He coughed and saw smoke come out of his mouth, almost as if he were a dragon. It was only a small cloud, but as it floated in front of his face it thickened and grew.

Faramir was tired and confused. He slowly knelt down on the soft grass, and the smoke

surrounded him. He didn't know how long he lay there, enveloped. From afar he thought he heard his

name being called, but he could not be certain so he paid it no heed. The voice grew steadily stronger, and some of the smoke seemed to clear. He was no longer in a forest; instead he was in some kind of cave. Faramir heard a noise. At first he thought it was water dripping, but then he realized it was footsteps. Two voices began to murmur, echoing off the walls until they seemed to come from everywhere. Then a sweet scent filled the air. Faramir stood and followed the scent, eventually making his way around a corner. The mouth of the cave was in sight now. It was full of light, which dazed him and made him blink. He thought he saw a figure in the glow. He rubbed his eyes, and slowly the visions or dreams faded. Faramir found himself in the Houses of Healing. Lord Aragorn stood over him, and though he was wreathed in a strange light, Faramir recognized him. "My lord, you called me," he said. "I came. What does the king command?"

~*~

Faramir and Eowyn stood together in the gardens overlooking the city. The sun was rising, and an eagle wheeled in the sky singing his song of victory. The world was being made right again.

Faramir, however, was focused on Eowyn. She returned his gaze. "I do not desire to be

a queen any more," she said softly. "That is good," he laughed, "because I am not a king, and I would like to marry you,

Eowyn- if you will have me." "I will," she said. "I want to be with you for the rest of my life. If I needed to brave

darkness and death to come by your side, then so be it." Then it was Eowyn's turn to laugh. "Faramir, why do you look surprised? You think too little of yourself."

~*~


	3. Epilogue: The Best Surprise

"Piawilin!" Elboron called. It was his turn to be the seeker, but he hated trying to find his sister. He decided to search the upper tower, one of her favorite hiding spots.

As he walked away, Piawilin giggled. "This was a fantastic hiding spot, Papa," she said

from underneath Faramir's desk. "I thought it was a good idea, too, until I realized that I'll never get anything done,"

Faramir said, and laughed. "Do you think Elboron will be surprised when he finds me?" she asked. "I don't know. Maybe." "Papa, am I a good surprise?" Piawilin said plaintively as she crawled out from under the

desk. "Why do you ask?" Faramir replied, concerned. "We-ell, when we were at Auntie's yesterday a lady I never saw before came to the door,

and I was very good, Papa, and I didn't say that I didn't know her, but she saw me and told Auntie, 'I thought they just had the one boy,' and Auntie put on her secret-whisper and said, 'The girl was a surprise,' and…"

Faramir shook his head, annoyed at his gossiping relatives. "Well, Piawilin," he said as

he scooped her up and gave her a kiss, "don't you worry about them. You were an extra-special present; the best surprise Papa's ever gotten."

the end


End file.
